


It's All Right

by Raised_ByWolves



Category: 21 Jump Street (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23506417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raised_ByWolves/pseuds/Raised_ByWolves
Summary: A sequel to Don’t Think Twice. (Originally, that was meant to be a stand-alone story. And in a way it still is. But this is a “what if” scenario.)
Relationships: Dennis Booker/Tom Hanson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	It's All Right

**Author's Note:**

> See the other story for timeline note and exceptions.

The ceiling of the bedroom was bathed in differing shadows depending on the time of the night. He noticed that if it was prior to midnight, a long wraith-like outline emanated from the southwest corner of the room. But as the night went on, it elongated and disappeared as stripes angled across the corners. And if it neared daybreak, then a smaller bubble of darkness ballooned into a Rorschachian ink blot along the far wall.

He had spent many sleepless hours staring up at those abstract shapes in the past several weeks. He couldn’t get his mind off That Night. The night Ronnie died. The night of that kiss. The night his world turned inside out and spun on its axis.

He tried to forget. He tried to move on. He tried his best to do what he always did and push the troubling thoughts so far down, that they’d stay quiet in that black abyss.

But this time it was different. Without warning, a reminder of That Night would come screeching back to the surface when he least expected it. And then it clung and dug in. He couldn’t shake it.

After Booker left That Night, Tom had collapsed into bed, shaking with fatigue and nerves. Old memories clawed their way through the darkness. They clambered up out of obscurity and descended upon his shoulders. He hadn’t thought about Jesse Gordon in years. It seemed likely that he may never have allowed himself to remember except now…

*~*

Jesse. He’d been a year older. He was on the football team. No star quarterback or anything, but still. Although he ran with the jocks, he was studious and more reserved. He projected a conflicting mix of cautious confidence and youthful arrogance. It was the former that Tom had found so intriguing, and it was latter that kept him distant at first.

They’d been lab partners in advanced chemistry class for more than half the year before Jesse made a move. It had been a long time coming, but Tom hadn’t picked up on any of the signs. Looking back, he realized he should have recognized some of them. There were the tiny touches, the small favors, and of course, all those long glances. But the high school version of Tommy Hanson was a very different kid than the adult cop version. Or was he?

The exact details of their first encounter were fuzzy, even though the weight of it had a much more lasting impact. Kissing while awkwardly fumbling with clothes, underneath the bleachers; it was just so damn clichéd it was painful to admit. But the brevity of their relationship also added to the ambiguousness, compounded by time. It had been merely a couple of weeks. Both of them had been too nervous to take their encounters beyond anything solidly PG-13. And then that damn Valentine’s Day dance...

Tom went to the dance with Diane Thompson, and Jesse went with one of the cheerleaders. It was pre-ordained that each football player was paired with a cheerleader. They both tried their hardest to ignore each other at the dance, but each one secretly stole at least a few glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

And then of course the events after the dance threw everything into chaos. His father’s funeral. His mother’s grief. His own anger and confusion. Tom missed three weeks of school. And when he finally returned, he was a different person.

The other kids at school knew. Tom’s misfortunes rippled through the gossip chain. Kids that didn’t know him shot pitying looks as he passed them in the halls. The kids that did know him tried to avoid him so they didn’t have to try and find something to say. And his few close friends genuinely felt bad, although teenage boys weren’t all that good at being understanding.

But his peers weren’t the ones that got to him. It was the adults; all the cops, friends of his mother and that little voice in the back of his mind. They all reinforced the idea that Tom, at sixteen, needed to be The Man of the house now. He had responsibilities, he had to act and think with a narrowed focus, he couldn’t just mess around anymore. Where he once had been indifferent about the future that seemed so far off, he now had to buckle down and be serious. The idle, carefree afternoons were over.

That morning after returning to school, Tom was at his locker. He hadn’t been able to eat a proper meal in weeks and he felt nauseous. Being thrust back into the world of adolescence after being immersed in heavy adult expectations was disorienting. He just stood there, staring at the mess of books and papers. He needed to pull himself together and get through the day. And then perhaps the next day. And somehow the next.

“Hey,” a tentative, soft voice said.

Tom was startled back into the moment. He looked up and found himself staring at Jesse’s face. It was a face that seemed so foreign. Jesse belonged to a different time now.

Tom’s mouth opened to try and form words, but he fumbled and looked away. It was too much.

“I just wanted…” Jesse leaned his shoulder into the adjacent locker and lowered his head in an attempt to get a better look at Tom. He needed to see his eyes. He needed to see if the flicker was still there. He couldn’t tell. “I just want to say, I’m sorry. About your dad and all. I wish…I’m so sorry.”

Jesse held his breath and waited. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.

Tom let his right hand glide over the top shelf of his locker. Out of nowhere, he felt a surge of irrational resentment against Jesse’s painfully normal life. But he swallowed the bitterness in a giant gulp of air and allowed a barely audible “thanks” to escape his lips without turning his head.

Jesse stood there, still waiting. The awkward silence stretched on for a few more moments. Neither boy could really say what they were feeling or what they wanted. Neither one even knew.

A shrill sound broke through the tension. Saved by the bell.

Jesse pushed away from the lockers as the rush of students filled the spaces around them.

“Well, um…” He fidgeted and held a steady gaze one last time. “I’ll see ya around, I guess…”

Tom didn’t look up. He found out later that day that Jesse had been reassigned to another lab partner due to his prolonged absence.

Jesse graduated a couple months later. They never spoke again.

*~*

Another sleepless night staring at the shadows he’d come to despise.

Tom turned onto his right side and faced the window. Then he kicked his legs out and tossed himself onto his stomach and stared at the wall. His chin dug into the tops of his hands and then he moved them up over his head as he buried his face into the sheets.

For weeks now he’d attributed the way things turned out with Jesse, to his father’s death. That’s what did it, right? If his father hadn’t died, he might have let himself out of the box. He might have strayed from the path that everyone expected him to follow. Be serious. Be perfect. Be a cop. Don’t be different. Don’t let anyone down. Don’t be yourself...Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.

But all of a sudden, he didn’t know if that was it. Perhaps that had been an excuse. He hid behind that line so many times for so many things that it implanted itself into his core. It was easier to blame some outside force than to take a deeper look at his own intentions.

After all this time, maybe he’d just been his own worst enemy.

*~*

Booker was lost in his thoughts. Usually, he could easily let go of the day and switch gears seamlessly. But he’d been agonizing about the little details of the case he’d just wrapped up and writing the report had been excruciating. Time slipped away until he realized he was the last straggler in the Chapel besides Fuller, who was still pacing in his office and could be heard talking loudly on the phone.

Booker stiffly got up from his chair, cursing his sore muscles that he’d only just realized were in full protest. He’d gone a little overboard at the gym the day before and instead of reveling in the hurts-so-good kind of feeling, he just felt exhausted.

As he stepped out the door and onto the stairs, he reached for his cigarettes and lit one up while still descending to the parking lot. The sun had set just a mere minute ago and the lingering light cast a warm glow across the side of the building. Momentarily blinded, Dennis approached his car without noticing the figure leaning up against it.

He was only a few steps away when he lifted his head and was startled into a dead stop.

Hanson looked almost too casual in the way he stood there, his back against the door of Dennis’ car and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. The breeze ruffled his long bangs for a second and exposed even more of his sharply cut face. Tom’s mouth was slightly upturned, but it wasn’t exactly a smile. Booker couldn’t tell what it was, but his stomach still churned involuntarily. Damn.

Dennis took a long, tense drag on his cigarette and just stared. They’d barely spoken since the night they ran into each other at the bar. It was clear they’d both been avoiding each other. But it was also clear that the awkwardness that still existed between them would eventually wear off and they’d just return to their not-quite-friends-not-quite-enemies kind of rapport.

Booker’s first impulse was to blurt out something snarky, but he also wanted to see what Tom had to say for himself. He was going to make him speak first.

Hanson stared back at him with those dark brooding eyes that could reflect a myriad of emotions in the same instant. He was still attempting to collect his thoughts.

After a long pause, Tom pushed away from the car and straightened up. “Hey.” Oh, real smooth there, his inner voice taunted.

Dennis once again brought his cigarette to his mouth. “What are you doing here?” The question sounded much more accusatory and harsher than he’d originally planned, but once it was out like that, he didn’t regret it in the least.

Tom looked down for a split second as his nerve momentarily faltered, but he quickly regained his composure and snapped his head back up. “I want to apologize.”

It sounded like there should be more. Booker waited.

“Apologize for what, exactly?” Again, he couldn’t mask the punitive edge to his voice.

Hanson swallowed and clenched his jaw. “For that night.” This wasn’t the panicky drunk version of Tom Hanson. He was so poised and definite now. “For letting you walk away.”

The words pierced the air. Dennis wasn’t sure if his ears had deceived him. His body coiled, as if it was preparing to fight.

“Well, that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” He was still in self preservation mode. “It was your decision.”

Without skipping a beat, Tom nodded. “I know,” he said so softly it was almost inaudible.

Hanson took a step closer. The intensity of his dark stare was rattling.

Booker felt mixed emotions bristle to the surface. He was simultaneously angry and defensive and shamefully excited. There was a marked difference in Hanson’s demeanor. But he wouldn’t let himself give in to the wild hope just yet though. He was still trying his best to play it cool, but he had no idea if he was succeeding.

“It’s not a good excuse at all,” Tom attempted to explain, in his still quiet tone. “But I…” He blinked. “I wasn’t prepared. I freaked out. I’m sorry.”

Dennis shook his head in confusion. One moment he thought he knew where this was going and then the next moment it seemed to change. His frustration was getting the better of him.

“I freak you out?” He sputtered furiously.

“That’s not what I said,” Tom’s voice remained calm despite Booker’s rise in anger. “I scared myself, I think.” He unconsciously ran his hand back through his hair in thought. “There are things…” He hadn’t rehearsed any of this. Now he sort of wished he had. It was more difficult to explain than he’d imagined. “I just couldn’t process any of it. I felt overwhelmed.”

Booker flicked his cigarette to the ground in aggravation. What was the point to all this small talk? He jabbed the toe of his boot into the pavement. “Ok. So you’re sorry, big deal.” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and gave an over exaggerated shrug. “Is there anything else? Cause, I’m kinda tired and just want to get-”

Dennis never understood how Hanson had moved so swiftly and without a sound, but somehow Tom was right in front of him.

And there was a split second of recognition for both of them before Tom leaned in. At the same instant he felt Hanson’s hand at the back of his neck, he registered that their lips were touching. Velvety softness exhaled a warm breath between them, and then to Booker’s shock, Tom deepened the contact.

And Booker’s residual resentment immediately fell away. Oh god.

He was not only kissing back now, he quickly took control. He took several steps forward, backing up the other man until he was again resting against his car. One hand grasped Tom’s waist while the other hand ran up his back until he collected a fistful of brown hair. Dennis pulled back slightly; not as hard as his desire was screaming for, but more forceful than he meant to. The vigor of the motion momentarily opened Tom’s mouth in an obscenely inviting manner. And never one to pass up a good opportunity, Booker plunged his tongue forward.

Hanson let out a low sigh of pleasure as he lost himself in the feeling. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt so wrecked from just a kiss in his entire life.

When their mouths finally broke apart for air, they were both heaving in unison.

As he was still struggling to catch his breath, Tom’s lips curled into a devilish smile. “I’m sorry for a lot of things, but not for that,” he gasped, only then realizing he’d developed a white-knuckled death grip on Booker’s shoulder.

Dennis couldn’t conceal a return smile and his own laughter growled faintly in his throat. He gently pressed his lips to Hanson’s jaw line and trailed a whisper over to his ear. “Now what?” He pushed his body forward, giving the other man even more to contemplate as he continued to nibble.

The added pressure expelled another wordless sound from Tom who threw his head back and clutched at anything he could grab. “Is the Chapel empty?” he panted.

Dennis made an undecipherable noise and then clarified by grunting, “No, Fuller.” He continued to nip his way along Tom’s neck and came back around to claim his mouth again.

“Well then…you’ll just…have to…take me back…to your place…” The words only came when the two mouths momentarily parted.

Booker tumbled headlong into a freefall. And it was even more exhilarating than he could have ever imagined. He purposely shoved his hips forward and placed a hand on either side of Tom, leaning into his car as much as he could. He dove into the other man’s appetizing neck again. “I think that can be arranged.”

Hanson’s hands had found their way up to the collar of the other man’s jacket. He tugged downwards as his own excitement lurched to new levels with each point of electrifying contact. “Then you better make it quick,” he exhaled teasingly as his need to touch escalated.

Long fingers darted downwards from Booker’s neck to the waistband of his jeans and then up again under the t-shirt material. Hanson traced well defined abdominal muscles with the pads of his fingers and felt the shudder of anticipation. He couldn’t tell which one of them trembled. Maybe it was both.

*~*

Tom’s shirt was on the floor in a heap of discarded clothing. His jeans hung halfway down his hips and exposed the upper portion of his boxers. He leisurely crawled backwards across the bed, savoring the sight of the other man, naked, and muscles rippling with ease. Booker crept forward with feline grace and a mischievous smile, hovering just out of reach.

When Hanson’s palms reached a pillow, he paused. As soon as Dennis was directly above him, he launched himself upward into a voracious kiss and used both his hands to lock onto the back of the other man’s head.

Meeting the sudden movement with his own, Booker quickly wrapped an arm around the body in front of him and sat up into a kneeling position. Hanson was now astride him and let out a muted half-moan sound that vibrated against his temple and seemed to reverberate down into his bones.

Dennis wanted nothing more than to rake his fingers down Hanson’s sides, tearing flesh and feeling every heart pounding pulse. He was wild and weak with a desire that felt so concentrated that it threatened to undo him before they even got to the good stuff. But he bit back his longing with every ounce of restraint he had. He’d waited far too long for this. He was going to go slow, and meticulously remember every burning sensation.

*~*

As soon as Tom’s eyes fluttered open, all of his senses told him it was still the middle of the night. The degree of darkness, the sounds from the street below, even the dampness that hung in the air, all indicated that daylight was far off. He sat up and glanced at the sleeping form beside him, tangled in a sheet and lusciously sprawled out.

After a long while, he got up and fumbled for his boxers that had been fiercely tossed somewhere across the small room.

He stood, stretched, and then felt compelled to wander into the living room. The open windows and the billowing gauzy drapes beckoned to him. He walked over and leaned against the frame. Although his gaze fell down across the nearly empty street corner below, he wasn’t paying any attention to the sight.

The sense of peace that flowed through his body was as devastating as much as it was a relief. He couldn’t understand how he could be so content and at the same time, so shattered. As the cool breeze brought goose bumps to his skin, he crossed his arms and attempted to hold in all the fulfillment he had left.

And then his vision became blurry as tears welled up at the periphery of his consciousness. He rarely allowed himself to cry. He was going to try his hardest not to do so in Booker’s apartment.

He was unable to comprehend the meaning of the tears. Were they for finally being able to let go? Were they for Jesse, or more precisely, the memory of him? Were they for his sixteen-year-old self? Were they for him now? Did it even matter?

He swiped the back of his hand across his face, erasing the damning evidence. He took deep breaths until he felt under control again and closed his eyes. This is what it felt like to not be at war with himself. This is what it felt like to be ok.

After an immeasurable amount of time, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He didn’t immediately turn around. He met the hand with his own and gripped it tight. This time, he held on.


End file.
